


It's a Different Road but We'll get There

by Monochrome_Sky



Series: All We Know [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AO3 has Everything apparently, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As you can probably see in the Summary, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, How Do I Tag, M/M, My First AO3 Post, Social Media, Social Networking, There's A Tag For That, Vicchan Lives, no dogs were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9577808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monochrome_Sky/pseuds/Monochrome_Sky
Summary: Program #1:What if Vicchan had not died?





	1. Part 0.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vicchan does not die, Yuuri manages to pull himself together before his Free Skate, and like all changes, these cause ripples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my first Yuri!!! on ICE fic and my first post here on AO3. I mostly hang around fanfiction.net, haha, but the archive there for this fandom was kinda... lacking. 
> 
> My username on FF.net is different from this one, though.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :D

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN YURI!!! ON ICE OR ANYTHING ELSE AFFILIATED WITH THE ANIME.**

* * *

 

He could not breathe.

He was first to perform in the Free Skate and _he could not breathe_.

_‘Vicchan._

_‘Oh my god, Vicchan._

_‘Is he okay?_

_‘Why isn’t Mari calling me?_

_‘Did something even worse happen?_

_‘Is he… Was he—?’_

His phone’s ringtone snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned his head so fast he almost had whiplash. His gut churned with unease as he read the characters on the screen and he sharply took in some air, but his clogged throat barely let any of it reach his lungs.

_‘Neechan.’_

He grabbed his phone and madly dashed for the men’s comfort room, only barely able to keep his balance on his blade guards. He ignored the concerned shouts of his coach. He needed to take this call. He _needed_ to.

He did not bother to take a stall and locked the entrance to the comfort room instead. His legs shook as he slid down the door and landed heavily on his rear. Heart in his throat, he answered the call with a choked greeting in his native tongue.

“Yūri!” Mari’s voice greeted him, filled with relief.

He let himself hope.

“Is… Is he…?” He whispered.

“Vicchan’s fine! The vet came through for us. Here, listen.” He strained his ear, heard the phone crackle as it moved and heard his sister faintly call out, “Vicchan! Say ‘Hi’ to Yūri!”

He caught the familiar sound of his beloved pet’s bark and the knot in his chest finally loosened.

“I’m so glad,” he breathed out and blinked the tears out of his eyes.

He could breathe again.

“Oi, Yūri. Yūri? Are you still there?”

“Eh? Uh, yeah, I’m still here.”

“What? Why? Don’t you have a skating event right now? I’m actually surprised I got a hold of you.”

“Oh, uh…” He winced. “I’m… actually supposed to perform in a bit…”

“Ehh? You are? Then what are you still doing on the phone? Get out there!”

He winced again and curled into himself tighter. “I know! I just… I… couldn’t stop worrying about Vicchan… since yesterday…”

Mari cursed. “Sorry, Yūri. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you in the first place…”

“No, no! You did the right thing. I told you before remember, that I want to know immediately if anything happens back at home. You guys are more important than my… skating… after all…” He trailed off and paused to let his own words sink in. His eyes slowly widened in realisation and his lips parted in a soft, “Oh.”

“Yūri? Otōto? Are you okay?”

His sister’s concerned voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Y-Yeah. Just… realised something.”

“Well, in that case, you should go out and skate! Vicchan’s fine now, so you have nothing to worry about anymore.”

“Right…”

“Do your best.”

The warm words caught him off-guard and he could almost hear that characteristic lazy smile of hers in them.

“Vicchan’s rooting for you, Yuuri. We all are.”

“… Thank… you…”

* * *

 

** porkcutletbowls **

y did Yuuri-chan run away omg

** here4u **

IDK! hes going on in a bit isn’t he?

** fanboyingfromabroad **

omg did he get nervous again???

** standupright **

YUURI-CHAN YOU CAN DO IT WE’RE CHEERING FOR YOU

* * *

 

He walked back to the rink in a daze. Something drifted in his head, in his heart, a thought or feeling he tried to grasp but it slipped away from him every time. His coach’s words floated over his head. He barely registered the fact that they called his name, barely felt himself step on the ice and glide across it to his starting point.

He barely felt his program’s music wash over him as he began to perform.

He let himself go.

The anxiety of Vicchan’s well-being overrode the pressure he felt as one of the six skaters in the Grand Prix Final. He knew he did not perform his Short Program properly because of it. On the other hand, would he have done any better without the added worry? No matter what happened, his anxiety would still be there, in one form or another. If not for Vicchan’s sake then he would have stressed himself out anyways with the pressure of the Finals.

How odd… that his pet meant more to him than his desire to succeed in his competitive career.

_‘No, that’s… not right. It’s not that Vicchan means more to me; it’s that… they’re… intertwined?_

_‘What is this? This feeling…_

_‘I haven’t seen Vicchan or my hometown for five years. Distance and time… should have made my feelings fade, even a little…_

_‘But they haven’t._

_‘I miss them so much. They’re family, of course, and I know I’m homesick but…_

_‘What does Vicchan mean to me?’_

He executed a perfect combination jump. The crowd gasped and applauded but he did not hear them. For, as he landed, his eyes briefly locked gazes with icy blue that shone.

He felt himself blush as he looked away.

_‘That’s right… Vicchan.’_

He jumped a Triple Flip.

_‘Viktor._

_‘It’s always been you, hasn’t it?’_

_‘My feelings about Vicchan are undoubtedly intertwined with my feelings about skating. If Vicchan died, I know myself well enough…’_

Another jump. This time, his hand briefly touched the ice but he kept going.

_‘… to know that I wouldn’t have been able to skate this program at all._

_‘No. It’s not just Vicchan.’_

His body flowed into the Step Sequence.

The faces of his parents flashed through his mind and they wore smiles that gently stretched their full cheeks and reached their eyes to make crow’s feet. His sister, with her lazy grin and supportive gaze. Yū-chan, with her mother-hen tendencies and soft concern. Nishigori, with his boisterous laugh and obvious adoration for his wife and daughters. The triplet toddlers he has barely seen and even knows less about, but he is already unusually attached to and fond of them. Minako-sensei, a strict teacher with harsh lessons but who was also a loveable drunkard of an aunt. Coach Celestino, with his steadfast belief in him no matter how many times he has made a mistake. Phichit-kun and his optimism, his confidence in both himself and Yūri, his obsession with hamsters, his abnormal affection for his phone, and his addiction to SNS.

He jumped again and landed the Quadruple Salchow.

_‘How could I have forgotten about them?_

_‘No. It’s not like I forgot. It’s just that I’ve spent so long looking ahead, looking beyond, towards Viktor, that I stopped seeing what was clearly in front of me.’_

A Combination Spin.

 _‘If anything happened to any of them, I wouldn’t have been able to skate, no matter what_ anyone _would have said to me.’_

More jumps. He fell on the last one but got up quickly just as the music began the portion where he was to perform the Choreographed Sequence of the routine.

_‘Shake it off. Don’t stop. The music’s still playing. They’re still watching you._

_‘They’ve always been watching you. Supporting you. Lov—_

_‘Why are you only realising this now?’_

Just a bit more. The sequence is almost finished. All that is left is—

_‘What is it… this feeling?’_

—one last Combination Spin.

_‘Oh yeah. This is… Love.’_

The music stopped. He was in his final pose as he heaved in lungfuls of air. He blinked as he felt his sweat cool on his skin, the temperature of the ice rink a familiar contrast to the heat within him.

_‘Eh? The program’s over already?’_

He straightened his posture and spread his arms out wide to the crowd that cheered louder than he expected them to.

_‘I must’ve blanked out somewhere in the middle…’_

He bowed to them while his eyes trailed over to his fellow skaters outside the barrier. His eyes lock with _his_ again.

He felt the burn around his cheeks intensify but, for once, he did not look away. Instead, he let a small smile appear on his face, just for him.

‘Thank you,’ he tries to tell him with his eyes alone.

_‘Everything’s always been because of you, hasn’t it?_

_‘Thank you… Even indirectly, you helped me realise that I am loved._

_‘I think I’ve always known it was there, felt it, but I also think that, before now, I’ve also always taken it for granted._

_‘So thank you… for helping me realise that._

_‘Ah! Also…_

_‘Thank you for helping me think about how much I love them too.’_  

* * *

 

 

** yuurisglasses **

brb imma go cry and DIE

** bbbeaisbbyuuris **

THAT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL?? LIKE??? ICANT????

** wigglewigglewiggle **

IKR LIKE HE LOOKED SO RELAXED AND YEAH HE FLUBBED SOME OF HIS JUMPS BUT OMG I GOT SOO MANY FEELS HOW??? HES LITERALLY JUST UGH

* * *

 

He does not place on the podium.

He thinks fourth place is not so bad. At least he was not last.

Not to mention that the Bronze medallist, Jean-Jacques Leroy, only beat him by _one point_. Considering the Canadian’s illustrious background, his stellar career, and Yūri’s own performance in yesterday’s event, a one-point difference was impressive. Coupled with the fact that this was his first GPF, he was at least sure that he left an impression.

“You’ll medal in no time, Yūri!” Celestino consoled him. “Especially if you keep performing the way you did today. That score you got is a well-deserved Personal Best!”

Hisashi Morooka, the commentator covering the GPF event for Japan, congratulated him as well and even said as much. He left with the promise of an interview and a few words of encouragement, both filled with enthusiasm.

No one mentioned the fact that he probably would have medalled had he not spectacularly botched his SP. Left unsaid but obvious. Yūri felt bad about it but it was not as if his coach was unaware of his mental weakness. Although, his mental state yesterday was a mere consolation at best and an excuse at worst, and he would rather avoid making excuses for his lacklustre showing. Despite the fact that his score on his Free Skate today was a Personal Best, the moment he saw it he felt _unsatisfied_. There were still jumps he could have landed better (or landed at all) and numerous other elements he felt he could have improved on.

He was not an idiot. He knew that skating with the thought of the people in his life had improved his performance but _was that all?_ Was that the highest score he could get when he thought of the people who have supported him throughout his career? Who did everything they could just so that he could achieve his dream of skating on the same ice as his idol? Of _competing_ against him?

He surprised himself with his thoughts. It confused him and he felt the faintest stir of unease in his heart. However, there was one thing he could not deny, and it was that their support gave him the courage to power through. Without them, he would not have fulfilled his dream. The least he could do was dedicate his skating to them.

The most he could do was win gold to show that their support of him was not in vain.

Another surprising thought.

Until now, he never let himself freely think that he could win gold. It was an impossible dream anyways, what with the competition.

However… he never really skated with the thought that he would lose anyways…

 _‘And now I’m in fourth place, just one point away from making it to the podium… How humbling,’_ he smiled sardonically. _‘Am I really going to be satisfied with this?’_

His family flashed through his mind again. His friends. His hometown. His fans both in and out of Japan.

_‘I never allowed myself to think about how many people counted on me because I thought that I wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure if I did._

_‘Even if I tell myself that, I still thought about it anyways. I spent whatever mental strength I had on fighting with myself when I should have used it to focus on my programs… on doing whatever I could to make them proud of me._

_‘Am I really supposed to be satisfied with this?’_

Family. Friends.

Love.

_‘I’m not.’_

He gripped the strap of his backpack and the handle of his suitcase tighter.

_‘Japan Nationals are coming up. After that is the Four Continents Championship and then… Worlds._

_‘If I want to show everyone that they weren’t wrong in placing their faith and love in me, then I have to make it there.’_

His whole body shivered and he felt his palms grow sweaty. His lips wobbled.

_‘Ahh… there it is. The pressure is even worse now._

_‘What do I do?’_

He took a deep, shaky breath and remembered how he performed his Free Skate. Recalled the sudden blankness in the middle of the program and let thoughts of home soothe his mind.

 _‘I’ve achieved my dream. I got to skate on the same ice as_ Viktor Nikiforov _._

_‘I love skating. I want to keep going. I don’t want to end this… not yet._

_‘So I need a new goal to strive towards._

_‘Why do I skate now?’_

The answer, unexpectedly, came easily.

_‘For those who have supported me until now… I’ll do my best to win gold.’_

He still was not satisfied but now he felt… content, in a way he had not before. His thoughts had eased and he felt he could look forward to the future now.

“Yūri, I need to take this call, but I’ll make it quick. Do you mind waiting for a bit?”

“It’s no problem, Coach.”

He stood nearby his coach and simply fiddled with the strap of his backpack when an overly familiar voice called out his name.

“Yūri!”

His heart stopped as he recognised the voice and, just as abruptly, restarted.

“Yūri Katsuki!”

He never dreamed him to say his name, never dared to think he would acknowledge him unless he won. What was astonishing was that he had… forgotten about him for a while. The realisation of this simultaneously froze and shocked him. He turned around, slightly afraid to hope that _he_ called his name.

* * *

 

** re-sPWNED **

Congrats to our boy @kingjjleroy for getting bronze at this year’s #GrandPrixFinal!!

** yuurikatsukiisaGODontheice **

Still think #YuuriKatsuki deserves that medal…

_Show more comments…_

.

.

.

** earnestlyloveseverythingRussian **

OUR SMOL SALTY RUSSIAN PUNK/FAIRY WON GOLD AT THE #JuniorGPF!! THAT GIVES RUSSIA GOLDS IN BOTH THE JUNIOR AND SENIOR DIVISION!!! DAVAI!!!!

* * *

 

Yuri Plisetsky sat on the edge of his seat throughout the entirety of Yūri Katsuki’s Free Skate. He knew, from the moment that the Japanese skater got into position, that this performance would be completely different from yesterday’s disappointment. The music started and the skater _flowed_ with it.

Katsuki was different from the other skaters in the GPF or even the whole GP Series. Out of every skater Yuri knew, he was the only one whose PCS constantly eclipsed his TES. Not even his rinkmate, the Living Legend Viktor Nikiforov, could claim as much. Remarkable, really, as failed technical elements usually led to a lower performance score.

It was the same story in this Free Skate but at the same time, it was different. He actually nailed most of his technical elements. Even so, the true appeal of Katsuki’s skating laid in his performance components and that was as good—no. It was not as good this time, it was even _better_ if that were somehow possible.

By the end of the performance, Yuri could feel his heart pound even harder in his chest, as if _he_ was the one who had just skated, and he felt overcome with the urge to skate _more_.

Just what was this guy?

 _‘Yūri Katsuki,’_ Yuri thought to himself as the skater bowed to the audience. _‘He screws up his jumps but his step sequences grabs your heart._

_‘I want to see him skate without mistakes.’_

The thought was uncharacteristic and it stunned him, but he could not deny the appeal it held.

 _‘I wonder what kind of guy he is…’_ He continued as Katsuki skated to the Kiss  & Cry. They announced his score and Yuri was not surprised to hear that it was a Personal Best.

Katsuki’s reaction interested him, though. He could not see all that well from his vantage point but from what he could make out, he had his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed.

He looked unhappy. As if he knew, he could have done better.

Yuri would know. He saw that look in the mirror enough times to be familiar with it.

_‘Were they…?’_

Before he could make out the emotions that roiled within him and his increasingly chaotic thoughts, Katsuki left the rink side and with him, he took all the interest Yuri held for the event.

When they announced the next skater to show their program, Yuri clicked his tongue in annoyance. It was the Italian and from what he could remember from yesterday, his skating was nothing special. In fact, none of the other skaters could claim to hold the same appeal as Katsuki. He reclined in his seat and shifted to a more comfortable position so he could scroll through his SNS accounts. Maybe if he found nothing interesting online he could bring himself to watch Viktor’s program, though that might make him fall asleep seeing as he’s seen _that_ who knows how many times at this point.

He confidently thought that the older skater who shared his name would place third at least.

* * *

 

** YuriPfc_YuriAngels **

[ image ]

KYAAAAA!! CONGRATS YURATCHKA!

            **kittykatlover**

            He’s so beautiful I can’t even <3 <3 <3

            **bubblybutt**

            and a total BADASS #RusssianPunk

            [ image ]

            **headofthefairycheersquad**

            get u a boi dat can do both σ(≧ε≦ｏ)

            _Show more comments…_

.

.

.

** yuri-plisetsky **

Looking forward to beating this year’s podium winners when I make my senior debut @v-nikiforov @christophe-gc #YuriKatsuki

            _Show more comments…_

            **kermitmemereactor**

            did… did _Yuri Plisetsky_ just indirectly state that Yuri Katsuki deserves to be on the podium instead of Leroy?

            …

            [ image ]

            **soDONEwithurshit**

            of _course_ you’d end with a kermit meme -_-

* * *

 

Viktor watched in mild amusement and genuine concern as little Yuri seethed. He had been like that ever since the results for the Senior Men’s Singles came out and the older Russian, for the life of him, could not figure out why. Oh, well. Straightforward questions usually worked best in situations like these.

“What’s got your tiny claws out, little Yuri?”

Yuri directed a scathing look towards him to which he merely gave a passive smile in return. He waited for a bit and counted, _‘Three, two, one…’_

“THAT FUCKER J.J.!”

 _‘There we go.’_ Then, the teen’s words registered in his head. “J.J.? Hmm… who was that again…? Ah! He’s the Bronze medallist, right?” Privately, he was glad they spoke in Russian because that was quite a foul word Yuri used.

Yuri continued to glare at him. “The _undeserving_ Bronze medallist. The shithead and Katsuki only had a fucking _one-point_ difference between them. What the _fuck_. That’s not a win, he doesn’t deserve that medal, hell Katsuki scored _way_ higher in the Free Skate and he performed _first_. Fucking judges—”

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Viktor cut in uncharacteristically sharp. “As amusing as it is to see you defend a skater you don’t even know just because you share the same name, do _not_ speak of the judges in such a way. They can understand you, in case you forgot that you’re in Sochi. You know how Yakov gets when you’re not on your best behaviour.”

He scowled. “You know it’s true. Everyone knows the first skater is always judged the harshest because they’re used as a measuring stick for the others’ scores.”

“I do not _know_ anything,” the older Russian replied amicably. “I only trust that the judges know what they’re doing. You should too. After all, Katsuki fell on two of his jumps so that’s two points deducted.”

“His PCS was higher than the fucker’s.”

“His TES was lower, too.”

“ _One point_.”

Viktor shook his head and decided to stay silent as it dawned on him that his tiny rink mate would not let go of this anytime soon. He let the other stew in his thoughts as his own mind brought up Katsuki’s surprisingly delightful Free Skate. Of course, he did not nail all of his jumps, but no one could deny the beauty of his spins, the elegance of his technique, and the almost _tangible_ emotions he had exuded. Viktor knew via SNS that the Japanese representative was famous for his unique sense of rhythm, which translated onto the ice and into his performances. He could now see what they meant. Truly, there was something remarkable about his skating, something _different_ and _indescribable_ that thrilled those who watched him.

Speaking of step sequences…

“Yuri,” he began in English as they left the stadium through the exit doors and entered the lobby. “About your free performance, the step sequence could use more—”

“I won, so who cares?” Yuri immediately interjected and stopped walking, which caused Viktor to halt with him in confusion. The teen rolled his eyes as a tiny flush of embarrassment made its way to his cheeks. He then looked towards a black-haired male with glasses who stood beside a man in a tailored suit. The former absentmindedly fiddled with the strap of his backpack while the latter spoke animatedly into the phone he had held up to his ear.

Viktor smiled at him amusedly. “Oh? Does little Yura have a crush?”

“Shut _up_ , old man, and no, I don’t,” he hissed. “I just don’t want you critiquing my technique when we’re within earshot of the skater with arguably the best step sequences, _okay_.”

The older skater’s eyes widened as he looked around excitedly. “Katsuki, yes? Where is he?”

The blond looked at him as if he were an idiot. To be fair, the teen believed it to be true. “ _That’s_ Katsuki.”

He turned to look at the black-haired male again and took in the bangs that messily covered his forehead and the brown eyes hidden behind blue-framed glasses. If he looked hard enough, he was sure those eyes were same ones that had looked at him at the end of his program, and that those were the same lips that had given him such a beatific smile. Viktor’s mouth promptly dropped open as he stage-whispered in awe, “He looks _so different_.” The transformation was admirable, really.

Yuri stood still for a moment before he nodded mutely in agreement.

Just then, a _brilliant_ idea came to Viktor.

“Let’s ask him what he thinks about your step sequences!” He said in a cheery voice that brooked no argument and began to drag the younger skater with him, _towards_ Katsuki.

“ _Ha_? What? No! Let go of me!”

Viktor ignored him, of course. “Yūri!” He called out, as though they were the closest of friends. Then he decided that the other might assume he called out to the Russian Yuri and rectified his greeting immediately. “Yūri Katsuki!”

Although, it was apparently unnecessary, as Katsuki stiffened the moment he heard his name. Slowly, he turned to face the rapidly approaching Russians, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights and face slack with utter bewilderment.

“ _Viktor_ ,” Yuri snarled, “let go of me _or else_.”

He ignored him again. “Hi, Yūri! Viktor Nikiforov,” he introduced himself. “Do you have time for a quick question…?”

Katsuki’s lips parted softly as the wide-eyed look of confusion stayed on his face. He glanced at the man in the suit with uncertainty but the other was still busy with his call. In the end, he hesitantly nodded.

“My rinkmate here,” he pulled Yuri forward a bit, which caused the teen to spit out a curse in Russian, “wants to improve his the step sequence of his FS, and since your step sequences are absolutely stunning, I thought he should ask you for advice. Do you mind?”

Katsuki blushed darkly and his mouth opened and closed multiple times. He was obviously flustered and uncomfortable with the situation.

Yuri could sympathise. He hated it too, which was why he decided to take pity on the other, as he was obviously unused to his rink mate’s stupidity. “Of course he minds, you idiot! You can’t just walk up to someone like that and ask a question out of nowhere!”

“But I asked nicely!”

“That doesn’t matter—”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki finally spoke up, though his voice was dry and rough. He coughed to clear it and when the Russians returned their gazes to him, he shifted in place uncomfortably.

“Oh! So you _can_ talk,” Viktor commented with an easy grin. “I was beginning to think you were mute or something.”

When Katsuki flinched, Yuri (mentally) swore, outwardly rolled his eyes, and jabbed an elbow into the idiot’s rib cage. Said idiot winced at the act and sent him a cold smile complete with a frosty glare. The blond did not care, however, especially when he saw the other Yuri look like he was torn between abject humiliation and unbelievable amusement.

“Not… mute, more speechless, I guess?” He tentatively offered. “It’s not like I get approached by a Living Legend or the Junior GPF gold medallist every day, you know.” He cracked a small, shy smile at that. “Yuri Plisetsky, right? Your Free Skate was impressive. I couldn’t land half those jumps as cleanly as you did when I was your age.”

Yuri smirked and preened at the praise. He did not know why, but Katsuki paid attention to _him_ first. Usually, and most especially when he was around Viktor, well-wishers would always address the older skaters around him instead of _him_. This was a nice change.

Viktor, on the other hand, pouted slightly. He was unused to Katsuki’s reaction and uncertain on how he should proceed.

“But Yūri, what do you think of his step sequences?” He wheedled.

Katsuki’s gaze remained on Yuri as he thought the question over. He finally settled with, “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Yuri pressed, curious now, as to what the other _really_ thought.

He nodded slowly. “You can do better.”

A flash of _something_ burned through the teen and before he knew it—

“Teach me,” he demanded.

“Eh?”

“Teach me how I can do better,” he insisted. “Tomorrow. Before the Gala. Be at the practice rink at… at one in the afternoon. Don’t be late.” He turned and walked away towards his coach whom he just spotted.

Yūri stared after him as he spluttered out a protest but knew, intuitively, that it was a lost cause. The younger Yuri looked stubborn about his demand and he could only sigh in part frustration and part resignation.

Then, he stiffened. The younger skater left, which meant… that he left him alone with…

He hoped that the whimper he heard was in his head and not aloud, as he turned around and finally made eye contact with _Viktor Nikiforov_.

“Hi,” he squeaked.

Viktor looked surprised but recovered quickly enough to give a wide smile in return. “Hi~!”

“I… umm… is he—” he gestured in the direction the blond left in. “Is he always like that?”

“To be honest? No,” he chuckled lightly. “I’ve never seen him demand another skater teach him. In fact, the only other skater I know for sure he asked help from was…” He thought hard about it and an almost-forgotten memory surfaced to the forefront of his mind, and he was promptly surprised. _‘Me. That time when he made a bet with me and asked me to choreograph a program for his senior debut,’_ he continued privately. At that, he proceeded to gaze at Katsuki thoughtfully.

The prolonged scrutiny from those ice-blue eyes caused Yūri to fidget. He could feel his anxiety build up and desperately sought a release from the searching look that entrapped him. “W-What‘s wrong?”

Viktor pressed a finger to his mouth, gave an enigmatic smile, and finally answered, “Nothing. It’s just that…” He tilted his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve been this surprised. I think I’ll be joining you and little Yura tomorrow.” He began to walk towards his coach before he stopped and turned, just to throw a wink over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Yūri!”

Yūri screamed internally.

* * *

 

** phichit+chu **

Congrats to my best friend, #YuriKatsuki for placing fourth in the Sochi GPF!!! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

* * *

 

Yūri screamed into his pillow.

Phichit’s laugh sounded tinny and obnoxious from the minuscule speakers of his phone, propped up on the bed’s headboard with the FaceTime function up. "I don’t know if I should pity you, be jealous of you, or proud.”

Yūri rested his chin on his pillow, cheeks red with shame and puffed up. “Pity me,” he mumbled in despair. “Please. I need validation that I live an utterly miserable existence.”

"Woah, chill on the English, I don’t have your years of experience, you know. But, well, I got what you mean. In that case, I’m so proud, Yūri!” He cheered. “You managed to talk to _the_ Viktor Nikiforov. Do you know how cool that is?"

“ _Yes_. But you’re completely ignoring the fact that I made a _complete idiot of myself_ ,” he moaned and smothered his face back into his pillow in an attempt to die.

“I don’t think so,” Phichit replied optimistically. “I mean, if he wants to see you again tomorrow, it couldn’t have been that bad, right?”

He lifted his head again and thought about it. “I… guess not? That could only be a good thing, right?” He asked tentatively.

“Exactly! Uwah, I’m so happy for you, Yūri! You didn’t just get into the Grand Prix Final, you managed to impress both the Junior and Senior Grand Prix gold medallists with your skating while you were at it! And Yuri Plisetsky wants you to teach him! The Russian Punk-slash-Fairy! Not to mention that you finally got to talk to your idol and it sounds like he admires your step sequences too! ”

Yūri could not help but let his smile grow with every word his friend spoke. “I guess that means I did pretty good for my first GPF, huh?” He concurred happily.

“Oh, oh, oh! Not to mention that you were just one point away from making it to the podium. You practically broke all Figure Skating SNS,” Phichit continued cheerily.

He paled. “What?”

“Oh, I totally forgot to mention this, sorry! But a lot of your fans are saying that you were underscored and that you deserved that bronze medal, not J.J.”

He groaned and let his head fall back into his pillow. “I didn’t want the media to get into a frenzy. And I really don’t want J.J. to hear about this. I honestly think he deserves that medal.”

It was a lucky thing that the Thai skater was proficient in muffled-Yūri speech. “I can do damage control in the meantime,” he offered. “But there’s only so much I can do. You might wanna give a statement or something to calm them down. Some of your fans are scary overprotective of you, y’know?”

Yūri lifted his head once more. “Can you help me with that?” He hesitantly requested. “You know I’m not good at that kind of stuff.”

“Sure, I don’t mind! That’s what friends are for, right?”

He smiled, filled with warmth. “Right.”

“In return, you help me with my programs once you come back! Thailand Nationals are coming up and I wanna give my homeland my best performances yet.”

“Sure thing!” He laughed. “Thanks again, Phichit-kun.”

“No problem. But, Yūri, can I ask you something?” Phichit fumbled with his phone a bit and Yūri caught a glimpse of one of his hamsters before the screen righted itself.

“Yeah?”

“What’re you planning on teaching Plisetsky? I mean, I get that he asked you to help him with his step sequences, but do you even know how?”

“… Crap.”

* * *

 

** cannotflirttosavelife **

So guys… I work part-time at an ice skating rink in Sochi… and guess who reserved the rink for an entire afternoon... （＊〇□〇）……！

[ image ]

** serenademetosleep **

*incoherent screaming*

** SergeantNoChill **

*incoherent pterodactyl noises*

** justGLITCHmeup **

is that…???

**_ cannotflirttosavelife _ **

Viktor Nikiforov, Yuri Plisetsky, AND Yuri Katsuki?

Yup

** rusteeze **

omg

omgomgomgomgoMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

OMG!!!

**_ cannotflirttosavelife _ **

I’m not sure but I think they’re training together…?

** obstinantlyobtuse **

wtf since when were they friends??? or rink mates for that matter???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you thought :D


	2. Part 0.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri finds himself determined to learn his improved Step Sequence, Viktor and Yūri talk around their visceral and undeniable attraction towards each other, and the Gala may be over but the Banquet is just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wasn't supposed to update until the first weekend of March but as I was goofing around on Tumblr I suddenly remembered that it was Viktuuri week!
> 
> So in honour of it, have this early update!

Katsuki was _good_.

When Yuri and Viktor got to the rink, they found Katsuki already there, skating in casual training clothes. He executed what was undeniably Yuri’s step sequence from his FS, but _improved_. There were no drastically changed movements but it was noticeably smoother and more fluid than the version Yuri knew. Both had the sneaking suspicion that it would match the music much better as well.

The teen felt himself vibrate with excitement and he actually felt _eager_ to learn a new step sequence. If he could master this in time for Worlds, no one in the junior division would be able to stop him.

(Well, it was not like there was anyone who currently _could_ , but he liked to think of this as extra training that would give him an upper hand when he made his senior debut.)

Katsuki stumbled when he finally noticed their presence and stuttered out a nervous inquiry as to how long they stood there. Viktor gave a purposely-vague answer while Yuri stayed silent. After a moment of awkward muteness, Katsuki suggested the Russians warm-up as they usually do, with an uncertain glance at the Living Legend. The blond scowled at the reminder of his tag-along. When they left the hotel together, Viktor explained that Yakov had wanted the older skater to chaperone the younger one, make sure nothing bad happens to him, that kind of stuff.

Obviously, Yuri called bullshit. The smile Viktor had given him was sketchy as _fuck_.

As of the moment, though, said sketchy geezer looked as if he only wanted to skate around the rink. As long as he did not disturb _his_ training session, Yuri did not care what he did. It was a simple matter to ignore the annoyance.

He wished he could say the same when he actually started to learn the improved step sequence.

It was gruelling. It _looked_ simply but stopped there. Yuri did not need to see Katsuki’s frown to know that his emulation of it was completely wrong, which was stupid because he _knew_ his own sequence like the back of his hand, making it better should not have been this hard.

“I’ll do it again.”

Still wrong.

“Again,” he repeated stubbornly. Katsuki nodded, silent, and showed him the sequence once more.

He tried it himself.

Wrong. Wrong. _Wrong_.

“That looked nothing like what Yūri showed you, Yura.”

He did _not_ need Viktor’s criticisms. He _knew_ , god damn it!

“Um, Yuri, ah,” Katsuki fumbled with his words. “May I call you Yura? That’s a nickname, right? I’m sorry, it’s just really weird when I say my own name.” He looked apologetic.

Yuri hesitated a bit then nodded with only a little grumbling.

“Right. Okay. Yura, there’s nothing wrong with your skating but… can you do something simple for me?”

The blond looked at him expectantly.

“I want you to skate some compulsory figures around the rink. You know what those are, right?”

“Duh.”

“R-Right. Uh. Go on, then.”

Yuri despised the timidity in Katsuki. He could acknowledge that the other was a good skater but it annoyed him how spineless he was off the ice. Nevertheless, he knew the man had more experience than he did, so he would shut his mouth and listen.

He did not even manage to skate one figure when Katsuki told him to stop.

“Okay. That’s enough,” he stated firmly, a complete contrast with the attitude he previously showed. “ _That’s_ the main problem right now.”

Yuri scowled. “ _What_ is?”

Katsuki skated around the rink and both Russians noted that he managed to do one whole figure in the time it took Yuri to do half. “Your skating skills are a bit lacking for the step sequence I developed for you,” he explained absent-mindedly as he skated back to where the teen stood. “You _can_ do it, with extreme focus and a lot of practice, but that’s time-consuming when it could be fixed by doing compulsory figures. They help with overall skating ability. Until you can double your time doing them and not run out of stamina, I’m afraid you can’t do the step sequence I made for you,” he finished and appeared to be genuinely regretful.

Yuri gritted his teeth as he felt anger bubble within him. “Are you mocking me?”

There visible surprise on the other’s face. “Huh?”

“Are you mocking me?” He repeated, louder. “Did you agree to help me just so you could show me how much you’re better than me, huh?! Did you make me a step sequence I obviously _can’t_ do to make fun of me? Did you!”

“Yuri!” Viktor called out, aghast, as he skated closer to get in between the two.

Surprisingly, Katsuki held out an arm to stop him before he could, but the man’s dark eyes stayed locked with the seething skater’s venomous green ones.

“No,” he replied simply, softly.

The teen scoffed.

The black-haired male seemed conflicted but then his eyes hardened resolutely. He began to speak quietly. “When you asked me to teach you how you could improve your step sequence, I didn’t know how. So I spent an all-nighter researching. I watched videos of your free skate and short program. Then I watched your past programs so I could get a good idea of how you’ve improved through the years _and_ I went through special features about you, just so I could figure out what you could and couldn’t do. I started to brainstorm ideas for your new step sequence. I thought that it would be a bad idea to give you a completely new one because your Nationals are coming up, so I decided to build up the sequence you have now. I got here at ten in the morning so I could try out my ideas and see which ones to keep, which ones to discard and if there was anything else I could add. I lost track of time and before I knew it, it was time for our training session.”

Katsuki lowered his arm and awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pants’ pockets. Still, he maintained eye contact. “I’m not making fun of you,” he finally answered. “I’m taking you seriously. I don’t know you that well but I’m pretty sure you can do this much.” His shoulders slumped and his voice sounded slightly uncertain. “Y-You asked me to teach you. That means you probably trust me enough to know that I wouldn’t teach you something wrong, right?”

Yuri lowered his head. He felt like a scolded child and a playground bully at the same time. “… Yeah,” he admitted grudgingly, felt a hand pat his shoulder, and looked up.

Katsuki smiled gently. “It’s fine. I know how frustrating it gets when you don’t do something right but you know you can. For now, just do some compulsory figures, alright?”

“… Right.”

Viktor stared at the other Yūri like the idiot he was, so Yuri did him a favour and pushed him away. “Get out of my way, old geezer, I need to train! And don’t just stand there like an idiot either, even though you are!”

The older skater shook his head to snap himself out of whatever daze he had been in, though his blue eyes sparkled and his smile was wide as he gazed at Yūri. “Yūri, did you even eat lunch at all?”

The Japanese male was taken aback and blushed to his ears. The Russian’s smile grew wider at that, his gaze warmer. “U-U-Uh…m… no…? But I, ah, had brunch, so…!” He shrugged helplessly.

Viktor gave an exaggerated gasp. “And then you skated for three hours straight with no breaks?” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

Yūri continued to gape. “Um…!”

Yuri gave him a _look_. “Are you a moron?” He spat, though secretly he was impressed. Just what was this guy’s stamina?

“We can’t have you coaching Yura on an empty stomach,” Viktor nodded decisively. “It’s settled! Yura will stay here and skate while Yūri and I go out to get some food. The Banquet’s at seven so we might as well eat snacks until then.”

“I’ll be fine, I can eat later!” Yūri protested. “And anyways, um, V-Viktor,” his cheeks burned, “aren’t you also performing in the Gala? Don’t you need to,” he gestured weakly, “practice, or something? I can get food on my own.”

“There are so many things wrong with that, Yūri! First of all, I have to make sure that you eat a proper meal. You might decide not to and just get some snacks for us if I don’t. Second, Yura would like to have the whole rink to himself if he’s going to do those figures. Right?”

Yuri nodded reluctantly.

“Third, I can always practice later. It’s not like it’ll take us that long to get food. Fourth, we’re in Sochi. _Russia_ , in case you forgot. So unless you can secretly speak and read Russian—”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Yūri exclaimed. His face was scrunched up, a mix of amusement and exasperation, and of bemusement and confusion. It was an interesting amalgamation of emotions.

“Good!” He began to herd the younger man to the rink’s exit. “Go on then, change out of your skates so we can go!”

“Uh, wait, I can skate on my own, you know?”

“Of course I know, otherwise you wouldn’t have made it to the GPF—”

“You’re not acting like it, you’re still pushing me—”

“ _That’s_ because you won’t hurry up. Come on, go faster—”

“Viktor, I swear, if you push me again I’ll—”

“You’ll what, hmm? Please, do tell…”

As Yuri watched the other Yūri turn darker shades of red, as he watched the two men cautiously banter back and forth, and as he watched the sparkle in Viktor’s eyes grow brighter…

He wondered what the fuck just happened.

* * *

 

** cannotflirttosavelife **

guys oh my fucking god

[ image ]

_Show more comments…_

** phichit+chu **

where did you get this???

**_ cannotflirttosavelife _ **

just now!! they left together but they said they’d come back. i think viktor was talking abt what they should eat??

** SupahBowl **

bro are you even allowed to post shit like this

won’t you get in trouble with the rink manager or something

**_ cannotflirttosavelife _ **

my boss actually asked mr. nikiforov if i could post the first pic. i think he wanted free publicity?

 but ur right i'm probably not allowed to post this one so…

.

.

.

** cannotflirttosavelife **

guys oh my fucking god

[ image ]

edit: GUYS I’M GOING TO BE DELETING THIS BECAUSE SOMEONE POINTED OUT TO ME THAT IT VIOLATES PRIVACY

edit2: ALSO PLEASE DON’T SAVE THE IMAGE

edit3: ALSO IF YOU ALREADY DID SAVE THE IMAGE PLEASE DELETE IT IMMEDIATELY KINDA DON’T WANNA LOSE MY JOB BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY IT’S A VIOLATION OF PRIVACY SO LIKE. PLEASE.

.

.

.

** phichit+chu **

[ image ]

#YuriKatsuki has a _lot_ of explaining to do… O/////O XD

_(Post Deleted)_

* * *

 

Viktor was not lying when he said that he had not been surprised in a while. In all honesty, he expected a career that began and ended with a bang, with exciting performances in between. He never once thought of this… _stagnancy_.

He believed when he was younger that he would never run out of inspiration. Skating was his _life_ , how could he be uninspired?

Yet now he found himself in a rut. It was a sobering situation.

Everything he thought of, every routine he created, every program he performed, was _lacking_. He could go no higher than where he already was. It became predictable to win gold at every competition, even the qualifiers. Everyone, even him, expected that him to land every jump, perform every routine flawlessly, and break the world records he himself set before.

(Of course, he did. He would never give anything less than a perfect performance but…)

It was monotonous. Dull.

 _Boring_.

How could he continue to surprise anyone when he could not even manage to surprise himself?

Then… And then…

Yūri Katsuki came along.

Like a pebble dropped into water, his very presence cast ripples throughout the Figure Skating world.

Yūri was (is, continues to be) delightfully surprising. He even does it intentionally, without care that everything he does goes beyond what anyone expects of him. A natural enigma complete with an unassuming, even innocent, demeanour.

He was (is, continues to be) _charming_ and Viktor found himself charmed. (Willingly, he would happily admit.)

Yūri would botch his Short Program and the next day make up for it with his Free Skate, enough so that he could contend with a crowd favourite and raise debates about who really deserved that bronze medal. A Free Skate so undeniably beautiful that it left Viktor breathless, that made his heart pump faster and caused his blood to boil hot in his veins.

He would be approached by the gold medallists of both the junior and senior GPF, the latter tactlessly requesting for advice on the former’s step sequences and he would respond courteously despite his obviously overwhelmed state.

Yuri Plisetsky would demand that he teach him how he could improve his program without even giving the other a chance to decline, and Yūri would stay up an _entire night_ researching just so he could help, most likely also combatting the fatigue he _should have had_ because of the taxing Free Skate earlier that _same night_.

If that was not enough, the moment he woke up, all he could think about was practising just so he could help the rude teen he literally _just met_.

Not to mention the fact that he completely forgot to eat while he was at it.

He was earnest and sweet and honestly, how could no one be charmed?

Then Yūri just had to go and _tame_ his rink mate’s explosive rage with nothing but this genuine desire to help, and that was the last straw.

 _‘I_ need _to get to know him,’_ was all he thought. _‘I need to get to know this beautiful, surprising man.’_

Which brought them to where they are now.

“So, Yūri,” he drawled out and decided that he liked how the name rolled off his tongue in a way that saying Yuri’s name never did. “What would you like to eat?”

“Uh… I-I thought we were just going to get s-snacks?” Yūri’s teeth chattered as he buried half of his face into his scarf, adjusted the hat on his head, and rubbed his arms.

“Yūri, Yūri, Yūri. Didn’t you hear what I was saying earlier? I have to make sure you eat a late lunch, at least!”

“You don’t have to—”

Viktor shoved his hand in front of the black-haired male’s face to stop his words. “I know I don’t, but I want to. You did so much work for Yura. It would be unfair not to do something in return for your help.”

Yūri went cross-eyed as he kept the hand in his line of sight. He then shook his head rapidly and placed his hands on either side of his head as if to hold it in place. “I didn’t do it to get something in return…” He mumbled in reply. He paused for a bit then warily pushed the silver-haired male’s hand down. There were conflicting emotions in his eyes but Viktor paid them no mind as he focused on the other’s words.

“Why did you, then?”

The black-haired man looked up at him in surprise, and blue found themselves caught in brown, before Yūri ducked his head again, in what seemed to be discomfited confusion. “’Why’…? Is that really something you need to ask?” He looked up at him through his eyelashes shyly. “Yura asked for help, so I helped him. It’s just… It’s something I would have liked to happen if I ever asked another skater for help.”

Viktor stared.

Yūri fidgeted.

Viktor stared some more.

“Um… V-V-Viktor…?”

Viktor cleared his throat and hoped Yūri attributed the blush around his ears to the cold wind. “R-Right. Well, um,” oh god he was _stuttering_ , “I’ve decided! We’re going to eat Russian! Because, ha ha, we’re in Russia after all, it’s only proper. And I know Yura would love it—well, maybe not _love_ per se, but he would secretly appreciate it—if we brought some pirozhki back for him to eat.”

“O-Okay?”

“And I know a really good restaurant nearby. You could even try some of my favourites there. They have _pelmeni_ —oh, but they call them _khinkali_ here, keep that in mind. They’re basically dough stuffed with meat and some type of vegetable—I can’t remember what it was right now, though, sorry—” he gave him a truly apologetic glance “—but they taste really good! They also make them bigger here than back in St. Petersburg—that’s where I live, by the way—but I don’t know if the taste is better, I really like the ones back at home so I might be more than a little biased. They also have _borsch_ —I don’t know if you’ve tried that yet? Anyways, it doesn’t matter if you haven’t, I can always teach you the proper Russian way to eat it. I don’t really know how to explain what _borsch_ actually _is_ , usually, I just eat it and… and…” Viktor stopped to catch his breath and think.

“And… I’m rambling. Ничего себе (Wow), this… doesn’t usually happen.” He felt himself blush. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine!” Yūri blurted out suddenly. At Viktor’s wide-eyed look, he clasped his hands around his mouth though not even those could hide the obvious redness of his face. “I-It’s really… fine,” he managed to mumble. “I liked it. You sounded happy and… I felt like… I was getting to know you better.” He smiled that shy smile the silver-haired male thought should be illegal because of how cute it made him look. “U-Um… I’d like to get to know you better… Viktor…”

Viktor stood there with slightly parted lips.

 _‘Well,’_ he thought in a daze, _‘this is new.’_

Another shiver wracked through his companion’s frame and the older male shook off his stupor. He felt terrible as he realised that Yūri was unused to this type of weather, despite the fact that he had more clothes on than the Russian did. He scolded himself mentally at this oversight.

“Come on, Yūri,” he began lightly and his hand moved to the small of the younger man’s back in the same manner. “You look cold. The restaurant’s not far from here, we should get you warmed up as soon as possible,” he smiled gently.

It was Yūri’s turn to look at him with wide eyes and parted lips but, eventually, those eyes softened, and those lips curved up gradually. “Y-Yeah. That sounds… nice.”

They walked in silence then, but strangely, it felt comfortable.

* * *

 

** SlovakianFaerie **

!!!!

[ image ]

** stubbornAF **

idk how 2 russian wat

** igotdis **

That’s the Instagram of a restaurant in Sochi, I live near it! They’re basically promoting their business because some guy named Viktor Nikiforov ate there. I dunno who he is, though :/

* * *

 

Yūri would scream if he were not so shy. As it was, he is shy, so he does not scream.

He could, though. This situation calls for it.

_Viktor Nikiforov was treating him to lunch._

See? His twelve-year-old self would have died had this occurred to him. He was glad he was twenty-three; he was only dying a little.

He had imagined how their first meeting would go plenty of times as a teen. He imagined that he would be on the podium with him, that Viktor Nikiforov would turn his head towards him, smile his signature smile, and tell him how good his program was, how well he skated. He imagined that he would be confident enough in himself to thank the other and confess how much of an inspiration the older skater had been (still is) for him.

Afterwards, they… they…

Truthfully, he never imagined further than their initial meeting. He never allowed himself to go farther.

Who was Viktor Nikiforov anyways, for him to be able to imagine what they would (could) be to each other?

He did not know what to expect from him.

Although, there was one thing he knew for sure.

No matter what, he would never fail to surprise him.

He realised something as they walked to the restaurant, could feel his eyes (metaphorically) begin to open.

No one in the world knew who Viktor Nikiforov really was. The only exceptions were those he grew up with, those he skated with, and especially those who the man himself allowed learning of him. No interview managed to capture the depth of his person. No one outside of his circle understood the intricacies, the essence, of the proclaimed Living Legend.

Now, Yūri has a chance to do just that… and he thought that maybe… maybe…

Viktor was not as far away from him as he once thought.

If he thought about it, locked away his admiration and idolization of the man, he could see that Viktor was the same person who impulsively approached a fellow competitor to demand abrasively that he give his younger rink mate advice. He was the same person who invited himself along to a (supposedly private) practice session, who loitered on the ice, and who unintentionally, tactlessly even, goaded his younger rink mate on. He was the same person who rudely shoved his hand in his face to stop him from talking.

However, he was also the same person who insisted he eat before he skated any further. He was also someone who playfully asked him to hurry up, playfully because he did not want to pressure him, playfully instead of insistently to retain a friendly atmosphere. Someone who rambled on about his favourite foods, someone whose ears could turn pink, and someone who could smile so intimately as he gently pushed him forward, concerned for his well-being even when his actions alone brought warmth throughout Yūri’s body.

Now, he looks at him and sees someone he would rather get to know than the airbrushed posters in his room. More than the ethereal teenager that he first saw, more than the charismatic prince the other grew up to be, Yūri wanted to get to know _this_ Viktor.

This Viktor, who was right in front of him.

Their first meeting might not have gone the way he dreamed it to go but…

This moment, right here, right now, surpasses his wildest imagination.

* * *

 

**Yuri Plisetsky**

1:47 pm

VIKTOR

Yes, Yuratchka?

Where the FUCK did you bring Katsuki? He’s training me dammit bring him back here!

Be patient I’m treating him to lunch! Might take a while. Depends on how long the food will take

Get back here faster!

And bring me food I’m hungry!!

* * *

 

Viktor ordered the food they wanted, lunch for Yūri and a drink for him as dine-in, and snacks for Yuri as take-out. His hair was windswept and strands from his lone bang curled around his forehead. His coat laid over the back of his chair, his knitted sweater was rumpled, and his gloves were set neatly on the table. He turned to face him with bright eyes and a startlingly heart-shaped smile and Yūri ducked his head down because, even as much as he wanted to get to know the other, the man was still _so much_ to take in. His eyes focused on the pale hands that laid palm-up on the table instead. His fingers were long and elegant and before he knew it, Yūri had his finger pressed lightly on the other’s palm.

Viktor’s hand felt cold.

“Yūri…?” He asked in shock.

Yūri’s hand was so warm it had begun to grow clammy.

His heart pounded in his chest. His stomach tightened. He did not understand what in the world he was doing but he knew that he _wanted_ this so he smiles as wide as he can to hide the wobbling of his lips and looks at Viktor straight in the eye.

He says, “Tell me more about you. I want us to get to know each other better.”

Blue eyes widen and shine with something indefinable. Viktor does not remember the last time someone touched him so innocently. Yakov was not an affectionate or touch-oriented coach. Yuri was at that age where comforting or seeking comfort through hugs and/or pats on the back were met with disgust and rude exclamations. Mila and he were close, but they tended to keep their distance from each other so that no one made any awkward or unwelcome assumptions. Georgi’s touch… simply made him uncomfortable. Their friendship and (admittedly one-sided) rivalry was not something that needed it.

Coupled with the facts that he was not at all close with his other rink mates, how he shied away from reporters, and how he kept most of his fans at arm’s length, he belatedly realised that it had been a while since he sought another’s touch. Even longer since another had sought to touch him.

Yūri is not as close as a rink mate is but he is not a stranger either. He is cute, not just physically because his personality is utterly adorable as well. His eyes shine when he looks at him.

He is the first person to ask to get to know him better.

He does not know how to reply to Yūri’s request. The younger man seems to realise how forward he had been as he retracted his hand immediately, and Viktor frowned because his hand felt colder. He closed it into a fist as if to trap the warmth that lingered within his palm.

They stayed silent as they both waited for the other to make the first move. It was not tense but it was not comfortable either. Yūri pulled on a loose thread on his long-sleeved shirt when he took a deep breath, as though to steel himself.

“I-I guess I should go first,” he mumbled nervously. “My name’s Yūri Katsuki. I’m a 23-year-old figure skater from Japan. I like my family, my friends, and my dog. My favourite colour is blue and my favourite food is katsudon. I don’t like disappointing the people who have supported me throughout my career. My dream is,” he hesitated. “My dream is to win gold so I could make my fans proud.”

 _‘He’s actually serious,’_ Viktor thought dumbly, _‘about this “getting to know each other” thing.’_ A thousand questions floated around his head but eventually, he decided to introduce himself. Properly, this time.

“I’m Viktor Nikiforov, 27 years old, from Russia…” He debated if he should say his titles but forwent it. The thought of doing so made him uncomfortable. “I like figure skating, my dog, Makkachin, and surprising people. I dislike—”

Yūri suddenly leant forward eagerly and Viktor’s brain short-circuited.

“—I… I dislike… uhh…” He cursed himself. Why does his memory have the worst timing? What was he saying, again?

However, instead of a frown, Yūri unexpectedly grinned at him, a look of wonder in his brown eyes. “You… don’t really dislike anything, do you?”

Viktor thought about it. “Not exactly? I’m usually open to new experiences.” He grinned back and marvelled at how _easy_ this was. Things like this did not usually come easily to him. “Though, if I’m being honest, I… _really_ hate it when I lose inspiration,” he admitted in a hushed murmur. “I hate it when I can’t surprise people.”

Yūri said nothing in reply, the emotion in his eyes incomprehensible.

“How do you usually get inspiration?”

Viktor shrugged; his shoulders tight. “I don’t know. It’s _figure skating_. I never… I never had to look for inspiration before.”

‘I never lost inspiration before,’ remained unsaid, yet Yūri seemed to understand.

“Maybe…” Yūri struggled with his words. “Maybe you could try something new? Something you’ve never done before or maybe something you’ve never thought of doing before?”

 _‘This is something new,’_ Viktor thought, but aloud he said, “Maybe I will. But can I ask you something?”

“Uh… sure?”

“What’s a ‘katsudon’?”

Brown eyes brightened as delighted ( _surprised_ ) laughter bubbled out of his throat.

When was the last time Viktor surprised someone?

Reporters see only the information they receive from interviews. His Coach only saw the things that would affect his competitive skating career. His rink mates believe they have seen everything just because they have trained with him, seen him fall, seen the effort it took to perfect his performances. The audience only sees the show he gives them.

Yūri was nothing like the rest of them because Viktor does not remember the last time someone looked and saw _him_.

* * *

 

**Yuri Plisetsky**

2:28 pm

VIKTOR

Crap I am so sorry we lost track of time we’re on our way back

Did you just curse at me in a text

You’ve never cursed at me before

Actually kinda proud

DON’T TELL YAKOV

Why the fuck should that matter I’m not a kid you can fucking curse in front of me

Tell Yakov that. He’s the one who thinks you’re still 10

* * *

 

Yuri bent over and gasped for air. He looked up quickly to see the other Yūri’s reaction. “Well?”

His erratic heartbeat calmed faster at the tiny smile that greeted him.

“Better,” he said. “I’m sure you can perfect it by Junior Worlds at the latest. I recommend improving your stamina while you’re at it. And to continue your compulsory figures.”

“Great job, Yura!” Viktor cheered. Then, his eyes softened as they landed on the black-haired man. “You too, Yūri.”

The other simply grinned back, eyes warm.

The blond looked back and forth between the two in bewilderment. He did not know what in the world happened to them but he had never seen Viktor like this before. The other Yūri, too, seemed more at ease with them than he had an hour ago.

He shrugged it off. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He was just here to improve his program.

Yuri rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced at the strands of hair stuck there due to sweat. He faced the other Yūri, who appeared speculative as he gazed at him. “What?”

His cheeks turned pink. “Ah, it’s… nothing.”

He stared at him unimpressed before he shrugged that off as well. “Well, whatever. You’ll be at the Gala, right?”

Yūri nodded happily. “Yeah! I’ll make sure to watch the both of you.”

Yuri blanched. “That… That wasn’t what I asked! Moron!”

“I still will, though.”

He scowled. “W-Whatever. Do what you want.”

The older skater checked his phone. “It’s 3:30 now. We should stop so you could at least get an hour of rest before the gala. If you want, you can eat some of the snacks we brought back. Viktor said they were called pirozhki…?”

Yuri skated to the exit, suddenly energetic. “This pirozhki better be good, Viktor!”

“Not as good as your grandfather’s but they’re passable!”

“Duh! Grandpa’s are the best!”

“Hey, Viktor…” The Japanese skater began hesitantly. “Don’t you want to practice your Exhibition Routine? Not even a little bit? I’m sorry you didn’t get to have much practice, especially since we mostly focused on Yura… and you even treated me to lunch, not to mention how we lost track of time talking…” He finished, guilty and glum.

Viktor waved his hands in a conciliatory manner. “It’s fine, Yūri! I can do a run-through of it now, and I don’t mind since this _was_ supposed to be Yura’s training session with you.”

“Damn straight,” Yuri yelled through a mouthful of pirozhki.

“Swallow before you speak, Yura, unless you want to choke,” Yūri called back absently.

The silver-haired man chuckled. When he continued, his voice was lower than before. “And I especially didn’t mind our lunch together.” He winked.

The black-haired male blushed lightly as a chuckle left his lips. “O-Okay, then, Viktor. The ice is yours.” He gave one last shy smile before he turned his back to the other and towards the rink’s exit.

Viktor’s heart-shaped smile widened.

The teenager watched this exchange with narrowed eyes. _‘Just what the fuck is going on with those two?’_

Instead of watching Viktor perform a routine he had already seen before, he instead watched the other Yūri. The man appeared dazzled, his hands pressed together as though in prayer, and set upon his parted lips. Slowly, though, a furrow in his brow began to appear. When Viktor finished his program, the other Yūri’s mouth had turned down into the slightest of frowns.

“So,” Viktor breathed as he skated towards the Japanese man, “what do you think, Yūri?”

He mulled over it. “It wasn’t bad,” he began slowly, “but it _is_ different from your usual performances. Like…”

“Right,” he gave a crooked, self-deprecating grin, which took Yuri aback. Was there something wrong with him? “Is it that obvious?”

“Not obvious but,” the other Yūri visibly struggled with his words, “I guess it’s just something that can’t be helped? I mean, it shows, but if you wanted to, I think you can hide it…”

“How?” He asked seriously.

Yuri almost fell out of the bench in shock and the other Yūri did not look any better.

Viktor Nikiforov, Five-time Grand Prix Champion, holder of numerous World Records, and an acclaimed Living Legend in the figure skating world, _was asking for the advice of someone who was not his coach_.

 _‘Call the press,’_ the blond thought sarcastically, but no less stunned.

The Japanese Yūri recovered quicker. He seemed to think about it for a moment and then re-entered the rink. He skated to Viktor’s side and began to speak softly. The Champion’s face was serious as he listened. After a few back and forth comments, an intense discussion seemed to sprout between them, as both interrupted the other to say something every now and then.

Then they proceeded to skate. Yūri made some changes to what he saw of Viktor’s step and choreographic sequences as he listened to the program’s music, which Viktor provided for him through his phone. Eventually, he began to argue that they could change one jump composition so that it matched the music better.

“We don’t _have to_ , though. It’s just the exhibition and the program’s good enough for that.”

Yūri looked like he was about to pull his hair out. “But…But you’re _Viktor Nikiforov_. You… Your programs… They’re never just ‘good enough’!” He exclaimed in frustration.

His words seemed to strike a chord within Viktor. The next thing both Yuris knew, the silver-haired male had begun to try out Yūri’s suggestion together with the music.

Viktor was visibly surprised. “It’s easier to flow into the next part of the routine, now,” he stated in amazement.

Yūri only grinned, just as thrilled, if not more so.

This continued for the next hour until all three realised that they had to get ready for the gala.

With all of this in mind, Yuri was not surprised at all when he saw Viktor incorporate a few of the other Yūri’s suggestions into his exhibition program.

No one could take their eyes off him.

* * *

 

** nikiforlove **

OH MY GOD THAT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL PLEASE TELL ME I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO THOUGHT THAT THIS LOOKED LIKE ONE OF HIS BETTER EXHIBITION PIECES???

** FigureSkating101 **

Ur not the only one ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

** backtobasics **

wait what what’s going on

sorry im new to figure skating :/

** FigureSkating101 **

Oh it’s fine! Welcome btw (￣▽￣)ノ

it's kinda hard to explain but basically

that was a VERY DIFFERENT Nikiforov program

not completely of course but the feel of it was different i guess??

v hard 2 explain im sorry

**_ nikiforlove _ **

IKR I guess if you’ve seen his earlier programs you’d understdna better but basically

There’s always something surprising in his programs

but if you watch them long enough you can kind of start to see the stuff that makes them a Nikiforov Program?

So yeah you don’t usually know wha t to expect but there are some consistencies liek there;s always a surprise somewhere int here

bUT IN THIS PROGRAM THE SURPRISE IS LIKE

MOR E SUBTLE???

Like it’s not grand like they usually are or anything he just changed up some little things in his program but somehow it looks really different and oh my god this man is giving me so many feels I canNOT

_Show more comments…_

* * *

 

It was the banquet and Yūri did not know what he was doing.

He was not particularly close to any of his competitors, and even though he liked to label Viktor and Yuri as tentative friends, he was not entirely sure they thought the same.

Oh god, this was horrible. He could stand being alone, but being alone in a crowd? A crowd of other figure skaters, sponsors, and possibly the judges? Be alone in a crowd that probably spoke Russian more than English? A crowd full of people he did not know or was even remotely close to?

No, thank you, but he still found the idea of sticking to his coach for the duration of the celebration distasteful. The man had better things to do than deal with his skater’s unending anxiety.

Now the only question Yūri has for himself is what he should do.

He really did not want to eat much because he remembered how he stress ate the night before the short program, which probably consequently affected his performance that day. Then he got the news of Vicchan and he became too stressed to take even a single bite of anything, and at night, he tossed and turned on his bed until his body shut down.

So yeah, no heavy meals for him. The thought made him sick so just the light snacks and finger foods for now.

He could always drink but _that_ thought made him grimace. He knew how he got if he drank too much.

Best avoid the alcohol, then.

What else was there to do?

He looked around as discreet as he could. The Crispino twins were there but Michele was, as always, on guard for his sister. He did not seem like he would allow her out of his sight anytime soon. Sara did not look pleased by this at all. Yūri privately thought that he would prefer one overprotective friend in a crowd of strangers than being left on his own.

He spotted Cao Bin among his sponsors and a junior skater. They seemed downtrodden as the older skater spoke, so Yūri opted to avoid that area as well. It was not as if he was very close to the Chinese skater, after all.

He saw that J.J. had already surrounded himself with his family and other well-wishers. Some of his sponsors were there as well but he mostly entertained his fans. One of them saw Yūri as he watched them and, when she caught his eye, glared at him. He looked away immediately as his cheeks flushed and recalled Phichit’s words about how many fans have said that the Canadian robbed him of his place at the podium. He should have expected that the J.J. Girls would be, understandably, cross with him. He should have made a statement or something before the banquet, but the thought of doing such without Phichit’s support twisted his stomach.

Just as he made to circle the room once more in hopes of something to pass the time until it was socially acceptable for him to leave, an increasingly familiar voice called out his name.

“Yūri!”

It was Viktor.

Yūri felt immensely relieved.

The taller man laughed as he neared the other. “What are you doing skulking around? Come on; hang out with me and Chris. I asked him to get some drinks for us, too. Pity they can’t serve vodka, I would have loved to treat you to some authentic Russian alcohol. But I guess the champagne will have to do,” he blabbed on as he dragged Yūri to a table laden with flutes of said drink.

Christophe stood there with one eyebrow raised, a half-empty flute in one hand and two full ones held deftly in the other. “If you were going to bring him here anyways, what was the point of making me go get the drinks,” he dryly spoke.

“Viktor,” Yūri spluttered as he pulled his wrist free from the silver-haired man’s grasp. He turned to Christophe. “I am so sorry, Chris.”

The Swiss skater shrugged and gave a lazy smirk as the Russian beside them pouted and crossed his arms sassily. “It’s fine, I’m used to Viktor being a ditz. But you didn’t tell me you were close with him, Yūri,” he purred.

The black-haired man shifted even as his cheeks burned slightly. He never could get used to the other’s flirtatious tendencies. “We’re… not?”

Viktor looked back and forth between the two of them, confusion and some other unidentifiable emotion in his blue eyes. “You two… know each other?”

Christophe held out the hand with the two flutes of champagne. Viktor graciously accepted one. Yūri hesitated a bit but at the sight of the blond’s encouraging smile, he reluctantly accepted it.

 _‘One won’t hurt,’_ he thought as he took a dainty sip.

“Yūri and I competed a lot back in our Junior days,” Christophe finally answered flippantly before his smile turned salacious. “He made them _very_ fun.”

The mentioned skater turned even redder. “T-That’s—!” He groaned in embarrassment. “Stop that, please. And I don’t see how I made any of our competitions fun. I never beat you, not even once.” He took a deep gulp of his drink.

Christophe swung an arm across his shoulders. “Nonsense! You were the most competition I had back then. And silver’s not so bad. I’ve been wearing it for… what? Five years now?” He gave a pointed look at Viktor.

Viktor blinked and tore his gaze away from the arm the blond had around Yūri to look at his friend in the eye. He gave a small chuckle. “Ah, yeah. Sorry?” He replied sheepishly.

He waved the not-really-an-apology off. “Don’t believe anything he says, Yūri,” he mocked lowly. “No matter how hard he encourages you to do your best he won’t loosen his hold on first place. _Ever_.” He shook his head in pretend sadness.

The Living Legend pouted again. “ _Chris_ ,” he whined.

Yūri stared at them with lips slightly parted as an odd little smile softly curled the edges of his mouth. Their casual friendship, despite his awareness of their achievements, made him relax. He finished his current glass and did not protest when Christophe handed him another. “Well, then, I guess that just means we have to work harder to pry that gold medal from his fingers, then,” he commented lightly, hesitantly.

The reaction was instantaneous. Christophe looked at him with surprise before a delighted expression overtook his face and pleased laughter forced its way out of his mouth. Viktor remained dumbstruck. Yūri felt embarrassed at his own words as he gulped down his champagne as if it was water, grabbed another flute, downed that as well, and grabbed another. The burn in his throat and in his gut abated his mortification somewhat.

“My, my, little Yūri’s grown up,” the Swiss man admired. His eyes trailed up and down the younger man’s body. “I noticed this before but you grew up _quite_ nicely,” he winked.

The Japanese figure skater’s face somehow burned even hotter but he could not help the laughter that bubbled out of his mouth. “Stop that! I swear you were so _nice_ back in Juniors. What happened to you?” He teased.

Christophe chuckled. “I matured, of course. You, on the other hand… Your body’s matured, but your mind is as innocent as ever,” he sighed dramatically. “Such a dangerous combination.”

Viktor, all the while, simply stared critically at Yūri’s form. “Your suit doesn’t show it off, though,” he said disapprovingly. “It’s ill-fitted.”

Yūri simply gaped. _‘Why are both of you suddenly picking on me?’_ He thought, aghast. “What do you mean it’s a dangerous combination?” He asked the blond in confusion. Then, he turned to the silver-haired male, somewhat indignant. “And I happen to like this suit!” He protested.

The Russian raised an eyebrow, duly unimpressed.

He tugged on the jacket self-consciously and pouted, unknowing of how Viktor’s gaze stayed locked on his mouth as he sulkily continued to drink his champagne.

Christophe laughed again. “Ah,” he sighed, “this is the most fun I’ve had at a banquet in years.”

Yūri was visibly surprised at this. “Really?”

Viktor nodded. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. The banquet’s been rather boring the last few years.”

“And it’s always nice to see a new face,” the blond added.

“Huh,” was all he could say. He frowned when he realised he finished his flute yet again and set it down to grab another.

Both men shared a look, but before either of them could say a word, a familiar voice pierced the air.

“Viktor! There you are, you—”

“Hello, Yura!” Said man interjected cheerfully.

Christophe waved. “Hi~” He smirked, “Little kitten.”

Yuri bristled at that.

The dark-haired Yūri smiled widely at the interaction. “Hello, Yura,” he greeted brightly. “Did you just arrive here?”

This took the teen aback and he warily eyed the champagne in the other’s hand. “How many of those have you had?”

The question surprised Yūri and he gazed at the flute as well, as though it were alien to him. “You know… I don’t know. Chris, how many have I had?” He asked with wide eyes.

The Swiss man’s smirk widened. “I don’t know, Yūri,” he replied playfully. “Maybe you should ask Viktor,” he gazed at the man from the corner of his eye as his smile turned knowing.

Yūri found nothing wrong with this suggestion and turned to the older skater. “Viktor~” He sang, “how many of these have I had?” He held out the flute.

“Uhh,” the silver-haired man stammered. “I—uh—I… don’t know? Maybe three? Four?”

The Japanese man thought about this and nodded to himself as if this were perfectly acceptable. “That’s okay then. Just make sure I don’t drink like… eight of these or something.” He knocked back the rest of the champagne left in the glass. “I mean my tolerance is pretty good but I get kinda bad if I drink too much,” he gossiped and a tiny giggle left his mouth.

Curiosity burned in the eyes of the other three.

“What happens if you get too drunk?” Yuri asked eagerly.

Yūri appeared to think about it. Then, his eyes hooded as one corner of his mouth lifted into a crooked smile. He pressed a finger to his bottom lip and simply sang, “Secret~”

Just like that, it seemed like a switch flipped and he suggested, glowingly, “Let’s play a game!”

Christophe, unsurprisingly, was the first to recover from the unexpected peek at a hidden sensuality. There was a growing interest in his eyes as an excited grin bloomed on his lips. “What kind of game?”

The black-haired man answered enthusiastically, “Ninja!”

The adults grew confused while the only teen present barely suppressed his excitement.

“You know that game?” The younger blond asked.

The other Yūri locked eyes with him as he dryly replied, “I’m Japanese.”

Yuri huffed out a laugh as a cocky smirk made its way to his lips. “That’s true. So, what’re the stakes?”

He thought for a moment. “Let’s keep it general, I guess? Loser has to do whatever the winner asks of him.”

For some reason, the younger Yuri’s eyes glowed at that. “You’re on, Katsuki!”

“Excuse me,” Viktor cut in smoothly. “Mind filling us in?”

The two Yuris shared looks before they both turned to the other two males in their group, the Japanese one with his head tilted in interest while the Russian one gazed at them in an unimpressed manner.

“You don’t know?” The blond Yuri questioned rhetorically. He snorted. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Don’t be too hard on them,” the dark-haired Yūri replied blithely. “I only know it because we play it a lot in college.” He made a thoughtful sound. “Or maybe it’s just because we’re closer in age?”

Christophe looked affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He challenged.

Yuri accepted it. “It means,” his lips curled mockingly, “that you two are _old_.”

Viktor gasped in dramatic outrage and the Swiss man’s lips thinned as he stared down his fellow blond.

“Yūri,” he began with forced calm. “What’re the rules?”

“Oh, you’re playing?” He looked thrilled. “How about you, Viktor?”

“Of course I will,” he sniffed. “I am _not_ old, twenty-seven is a perfectly acceptable age,” he added in a mumble.

Yūri cheered as he drank some more champagne. “Okay, so the rules go like this…”

* * *

 

# Ninja (playground game)

From Wakapaedia, the free encyclopaedia

**Ninja** is a common [playground game](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Playground_game), where the objective is to take turns swiping at the opponent's hands to eliminate them. The name originates from the [feudal Japanese assassin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ninja). It is commonly played at meet-ups and conventions.

##  Rules and gameplay[[edit](https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Ninja_\(playground_game\)&action=edit&section=1)]

The rules of ninja are simple and have only a few pivotal rules for play. In a game, players will stand in a circle, and place their hands together, the player leading the game will say "Bow to your [sensei](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sensei)". There, the countdown begins, and each player must strike a pose. Players take turns attacking their opponents by swiping at their hands and must freeze in place once their attack is finished. Defending players may dodge if they think they will be hit, and must also freeze once the attack is finished. If a player is hit, the hand that is hit is out but the other hand is still in. If a player misses, they must stop moving immediately. When both hands have been hit, the player is out and must stand back until there is one player left. The only player left is the winner. However, there have been variations to how children play the game, some exercise optional rules such as, the area that is hit, timed attacks or however the players want to change the game.

* * *

 

By virtue of being the oldest, Viktor was to go first, something he protested at but eventually (grudgingly) accepted because of the majority rule. They were to take turns in a counter-clockwise motion, so Yuri will follow the older Russian, then it would be Yūri’s turn, and then Christophe would be the last to go.

The three other skaters gazed at the Living Legend warily, while said man’s eyes flitted about intently.

In a move too fast for anyone to react, Viktor had hit the arm of the teen to his right. Yuri scowled even as he tucked the arm away, behind his back. His gaze sharpened as his muscles coiled to attack. He struck out to his right as well, but the other Yūri had somehow anticipated this and agilely moved away as a tiny smile played at his lips. Yuri glared at him harder than he had at his rink mate and pursed his lips.

Yūri lazily readied himself and Christophe tensed to prepare to move away.

However, Viktor felt the hit.

On his leg.

“Yūri!” The Russian yelled, affronted. “That’s against the rules!”

Said man furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “It’s… not?” He turned to the other Yuri for confirmation.

The younger blond nodded. “It’s not against the rules, old man. You can attack anyone in the circle.”

“You didn’t tell us that!” Christophe protested and Viktor nodded vehemently in agreement.

“It’s _obvious_ ,” he spat back, then smirked. “What, you wanna forfeit?”

Both adults frowned. They shared a look and reluctantly motioned for the game to continue.

“Chris!” The silver-haired male cried theatrically as he attempted to balance on one leg. “Avenge me!”

Yūri laughed as the Swiss man nodded in mock graveness. The older skater took advantage of the other’s distraction to hit his leg.

The Japanese skater looked betrayed but the effect was comical instead as he raised his hit leg and tried to balance on his other one.

It was Viktor’s turn again. He aimed his hit at Yūri, but he managed to hop away to safety as he had anticipated the other’s desire for revenge.

Yuri looked at the dark-haired skater speculatively, which caused him to tense. He did not need to worry, however, as the teen directed his hit at Viktor and managed to incapacitate the older man’s arm. The man sent his younger rink mate a betrayed look even as the other smirked proudly.

“Revenge is sweet,” he gloated.

Christophe laughed at the Five-time GPF gold medallist who stood on only one leg with one arm tucked behind him, and the other arm held up. Yūri let out a few giggles as well.

Viktor huffed at the injustice of it all but took it with surprisingly good sportsmanship.

It was Yūri’s turn now. The Russian felt nervous as the other continued to eye him.

Yūri hit Christophe’s arm.

“Yūri!” He whined even as he tucked his arm away. “How rude.”

The black-haired male only smiled brightly. “Your turn.”

Christophe gazed at him for only a second before he turned to attack his long-time friend.

He missed.

Viktor smirked. “Better luck next time.” Then, he immediately took his chance to attack Yūri and promptly cheered when his hand connected with the other’s arm.

Both were now in the same position of having only one arm and one leg to attack and defend, and it was Yuri’s turn. The teen smirked as he locked eyes with the older skater who held the same name as him.

A stare down ensued. Both tensed and then—

“Yuri!” An unfamiliar voice called out and the Japanese Yūri turned to look, an act that left him wide open.

“Ha!” Yuri shouted as he managed to incapacitate the older male’s only good arm left.

Yūri looked at himself in surprise. He took one look at how he only had one good leg and laughed. “Aww… Well, I guess that’s it for me. I’m out.”

The blond teen continued to look smugly pleased with himself until a forced cough burst his bubble.

A young, red-haired woman in a puffy pink dress had her hands on her waist as she gazed pointedly at both Viktor and Yuri.

“Hi, Mila!” Viktor greeted cheerily. “Care to join us?”

Mila took one look at how he barely managed to balance on one foot and snorted. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

Yuri scowled. “What do you want, hag.”

She pouted. “You and Viktor promised to dance with me when we were done talking with sponsors.”

“Like hell I did! You’re the only one that has that idea in your head. I’m not dancing with anyone!”

“I’ll dance with you once we finish this game,” Viktor assured her. “Just wait a bit?”

Mila huffed but nodded. Yūri shifted when she moved to stand beside him.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

The Japanese skater’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “For what?”

“You losing your game? I distracted you,” she clarified. “You’re Yūri Katsuki, right? You must have heard me call out for Yuri and thought that I was looking for you.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “It is pretty confusing,” she complained.

He smiled back at her shyly. “Well, if you want to make it easier on all of us, we call him Yura. It’s a Russian nickname, apparently?”

Mila brightened. “Oh, yeah! That’s a good idea.” She paused. “I’m Mila Babicheva, by the way. Bronze medallist in the Senior Division’s Ladies’ Singles.”

“Um, Yūri Katsuki,” he chuckled and his smile turned boyishly wide. “But you already knew that.”

Her lips parted. “Are you really twenty-three?” She blurted out and looked to be in a daze.

Yūri’s smile turned slightly confused. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t _look_ twenty-three,” Mila continued. “You look younger than J.J. and _he’s_ around my age. How?”

“Uh… lucky genes?”

She hummed in acceptance of his answer. There was silence between them, the slightly awkward type where both sides would not mind to continue the conversation but were unsure if the other would appreciate it. Yūri noticed how the redhead’s eyes would stay locked on the dance floor, longing obvious in her gaze.

He shuffled his feet. _‘Well, why not? She seems nice… and Viktor and Yura know her so… Might as well, right?’_

The black-haired male managed to snag a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. He drank it in one go and set down the empty glass on a nearby table. He then turned to his newest companion, squared his shoulders, held out his hand, and asked, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Mila was shocked. Her silence caused Yūri to fidget.

“I-I mean, I’m no Viktor Nikiforov, but I can dance—”

“I’d love to!” She squealed and eagerly laid her hand on his.

Yūri grinned, “Follow me, then,” and led her to the dance floor. He tilted his head to listen to the faint music that came from the room’s speakers.

“It’s a Swing,” he told her. Mila looked surprised and, after she listened for a bit, agreed.

Then, the dance began.

Yūri Katsuki seemed to transform the moment they moved. There was no hesitancy in his steps, his arms, or in his wordless gestures, which he used to lead his partner. His gaze showed a vibrancy and excitement for the act of dancing, coupled with an odd sense of serenity, as though he were finally comfortable in his own skin.

His body moved as though the music came from within.

Mila could not remember the last time she performed a dance with such intricate footwork, not even during practice. The most astonishing fact of all was perhaps how she did not trip or fall once under her partner’s steady lead. A giggle burst out of her at the exaggerated, but no less seductive, roll of hips that her partner did, and a small blush was on his face but he only laughed joyously.

They moved closer to each other.

“I’m going to lift you,” was the only warning he gave as his features turned mischievous.

The red-haired teen squealed as he raised her up and laughed loudly when he swung her around. He set her down in time with the music and prompted her to dance freestyle. When she did, he somehow managed to copy her every move.

They returned to dancing together and just as the song began to wind down, Yūri twirled her one last time. They ended just as the music finished in one final beat, he with his left hand on her waist as his right held her left hand aloft, and her own right hand on his shoulder. They laughed at the same time, breathless with exertion, with smiles that practically split their faces.

Then the applause began. They looked around, surprised at their audience, and shared a look. Mila looked more exhilarated than ever and while Yūri felt the same, he could feel some stirrings of embarrassment in him as well. Nonetheless, they were performers, and so they gave the crowd their best smiles as they bowed in thanks.

The young woman pulled excitedly on her new friend’s arm as she gestured to where a familiar trio stood, dumbstruck. “Look!”

Christophe whistled lowly at them, his eyebrows raised. Viktor appeared to forget how to form words as his lips parted and closed soundlessly. Yuri looked, grudgingly, impressed.

“Where did you learn to dance like that, Yūri?” Christophe asked.

Said man rubbed the back of his neck. “I took a lot of dance classes back in Detroit. My coach recommended it as cross-training,” he shrugged with a sheepish smile.

“You’re really good!” Mila exclaimed. “We’ve never danced before but you managed to lead me perfectly. How?”

“I’m not sure?” He laughed softly and suggested, “Maybe it’s because I learned both the leading and following roles?”

“Maybe! Anyways, that was so much fun! I don’t think Viktor could have done any better! Right, Viktor,” she teased.

“Hm? Uh, ah, yeah.” He grinned widely. “You dance just as beautifully as you skate, Yūri,” he complemented fondly.

Yūri was visibly stunned. However, before he could say anything in reply, an obnoxious voice cut in.

“Hold it right there!”

All five turned to the source and it was none other than the bronze medalist of this year’s GPF.

“Yūri Katsuki,” Jean-Jacques Leroy began pompously, “I challenge you to a dance-off!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next month...


End file.
